


Written in Blood

by EradiKate



Series: The Scarlet Band [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fenris and Anders are jerks to each other and Aveline has had it, Graphic Description, Jealousy, Medical Procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:07:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21529540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EradiKate/pseuds/EradiKate
Summary: Fenris walked away from Hawke once.  Now her life is on the line and he has to ask someone he despises for help.
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke
Series: The Scarlet Band [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555672
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	Written in Blood

Fenris set his jaw and, out of the corner of his eye, saw Hawke wipe her blades on her leg. Somewhere behind him, he knew Varric was aiming Bianca and Aveline was guarding Varania. Though mages and soldiers lay dead around them, Danarius still lived. He could not allow him to leave the Hanged Man alive–not if he ever wanted to be truly free.

The magister was bleeding and smiling as though someone had presented him with an exquisite gift. Before Fenris could swing, Danarius jerked his staff and muttered an incantation, pain flashing over Fenris’ tattoos in a fiery rush. Hawke dashed in to close, her knives whipping around her and drawing bright lines across Danarius’ chest. As she whirled around, she brought up her right hand and struck him across the jaw with the hilt, knocking him back two steps.

His grin only broadened. Fenris moved to flank, clearing a shot for Varric and hoping to give Hawke the extra split second she’d need to find a weak spot. Instead, he caught a blow from Danarius’ spinning staff and heard her breathing tear.

The magister shoved aside his staff. Horrified, Fenris realized that its blade had lodged in Hawke’s ribs and watched it twist against bone as she fell. Varric’s bolt streaked past him and caught Danarius in the shoulder, too late to help her.

“My little Fenris, be reasonable. This barbarian girl could never have been your master. Come with me, give up your foolish notion of freedom, and all will be forgiven.”

Rage swept over him and just as quickly faded away, leaving behind a calm certainty. Aveline’s shout and Varric’s panicked scramble to Hawke’s side hardly registered. Spots danced in his vision, white light reflected in Danarius’ suddenly fearful eyes. Fenris swiftly thrust his hand into his chest, grasping his blackened heart, squeezing it of the blood he knew powered his magic until he was satisfied the magister was dead.

“I have no master.” Seething with contempt, Fenris tossed him aside and turned to face Varania. “You betrayed me!”

“He would have made me his apprentice. I had no other choice!” Even though Aveline still stood between them, Varania shrank back. “You don’t know what I’ve had to do since Mother died. It was my only chance.”

“And now you have no chance.” Fenris stalked toward her, paying no heed to Aveline’s grip on her sword.

“Fenris...no.” He looked back in surprise. Hawke’s voice was weak and held none of its usual humor, but she was still struggling to sit up, a wild and desperate look in her eyes. “There’s always a choice.” Varric had improvised a pad and was holding it to her side, but Hawke paid it no mind. “Don’t do this.”

“She sold me out,” he snarled, feeling the lyrium in his scars prickle.

“You still don’t have to kill her. You can let her go.” She coughed and winced in pain. “This can be over.”

He suddenly felt weak. His sword clattered to the floor as he whispered a curse. “Get out of my sight.”

Hawke tried to smile at him as Varania fled, but it looked ghastly on her bone-white face. “There. You’re free.”

“I hate to interrupt this touching moment,” Varric said. “But in case you haven’t noticed, Hawke, you’re losing a lot of blood. We need to get you to Blondie.”

With that, everything crashed into focus. Aveline stooped and lifted Hawke as gently as she could, but Hawke’s muffled groan shot straight to his conscience anyway. “Keep pressure on it, Hawke,” Aveline said through a clenched jaw. “Varric, keep an eye on her.”

“Let me,” Fenris said. “This is my fault...I’ll go with you.”

Varric shrugged. “Someone’s got to tell Corff what happened to his tavern. Might as well be me.”

Aveline spared him a glare. “Watch her. If it seems like she can’t keep that pad on the wound, you’ll need to do it for her.” She walked through the door, muttering to Hawke about responsibility and the importance of armor that was made of something other than leather. Hawke mumbled in return, but her eyes fluttered closed and her breathing was shallow.

The way to Anders’ clinic was short, but Darktown was oppressively damp and reeked of unwashed bodies and refuse. Fenris rarely ventured down from Lowtown, preferring to steer clear of the abomination whenever possible. Aside from the occasional curse from Aveline or stifled cry from Hawke, it was a silent journey. He had plenty of time to worry about the extent of Hawke’s injury and whether or not it would become infected–until Hawke slumped against Aveline’s shoulder. After that, he focused simply on keeping pressure on Hawke’s wound and tried to ignore the guilt and terror chasing each other through his gut.

Anders’ face was never pleasant (not in Fenris’ experience) but an extra grimness settled around his mouth when he saw Hawke’s gray skin and slack expression. “What happened?” he demanded, stripping Hawke’s armor away from the wound.

“There was a fight,” Fenris answered. “A staff blade caught in her ribs.”

“That magister tried to take him,” Aveline added unhelpfully. “Hawke objected strenuously.”

“I should have known,” Anders growled, examining the jagged edges of the wound. “Make yourself useful, then. I need a bowl of hot water and at least three yards of clean gauze. Aveline, get me a scalpel, curved needle, and suturing silk.”

“But...you’re a mage.” Aveline came to a dead halt after laying Hawke on a cot. “Can’t you…”

“No.” Fenris was already coaxing the fire to full life. “He cannot. The parasite won’t let him.” He was sure Anders bridled at the remark and had he been less distraught over Hawke’s state, he would have traded further barbs, perhaps even blows, gladly. Anything to distract him from the blood on his hands.

“Fenris,” Aveline offered a sharp rebuke. “I apologize for him, Anders.”

“There’s no need for that.” Anders trickled a bit of potion into Hawke’s mouth. “I know he wouldn’t apologize of his own volition. I, at least, am doing this for Charlotte.”

Satisfied that the fire was well stoked, Fenris hauled the kettle out to the pump. As he worked it, the tightness in his chest only worsened. Even after three years, Hawke hadn’t hesitated to put her life on the line for him. He didn’t deserve her loyalty, not when he had walked out after she’d confessed her feelings for him. Yet she gave it freely and never once mentioned the scarlet band tied around his wrist, the same scrap of cloth that was now speckled with his blood and hers. He had not spoken of his own feelings for her, and now, when he feared he might lose her completely, he knew he must.

Lost in his own misery, he only noticed that the kettle was full when it overflowed, splashing his feet with cold water and foul muck. With a grunt, he lifted it and walked back to the clinic, determined to bear whatever came next with patience for Hawke’s sake.

Perhaps it was the firelight, but Hawke looked slightly less gray than she had upon their arrival. Aveline had laid several needles and scalpels as well as a spool of suturing silk and a pile of white towels on a tray by Anders’ elbow, which he was currently ignoring, instead focused on feeding Hawke a deep red potion. Fenris hooked the kettle on its iron arm and swung it over the hearth, exhaling sharply as heat washed over him.

When steam began to curl from the surface of the water, he poured some into a bowl, then carefully scrubbed his hands up to the elbow. Aveline quietly did the same, followed by Anders, then he filled a second bowl with the now nearly-boiling water and added a measure of wood alcohol. “Fenris, cut that gauze into three-inch strips. Aveline, you’ve seen sutures done before?”

She nodded, freckles standing out sharply against her anxious pallor. “Just tell me what to do.”

“We’ll start by cleaning the wound.” Anders’ instructions and Aveline’s responses blurred together, serving only as a counterpoint to the crackle of the fire and Hawke’s pained cry as she regained consciousness. Blood-soaked towels piled up in a washbasin as Anders trimmed the ragged edges of her wound, Aveline keeping pressure Hawke’s shoulder and hip to be sure she didn’t thrash and tear it further.

She was clearly exhausted. Fenris rose silently from the worktable and nudged her gently aside, taking her place and holding Hawke steady. Charlotte’s eyes were open but unfocused, her pulse weak. Only her rapid, shallow breaths showed that she was alive.

Anders didn’t seem to notice the change in assistants. Fenris was too intent on Hawke to say anything; indeed, he found that he had a grudging respect for the mage in this context. Time crawled by as he finished cleaning and debriding, then began to stitch up the wound with Aveline’s cooperation.

When Anders tied off and trimmed the last loop of silk, his hand briefly glowed a slight blue and Fenris almost felt the surge of power. All three slumped as Charlotte’s eyes closed again, though it seemed that this time it was from pain and exhaustion rather than blood loss.

“There,” Anders said quietly. “I have done all that I can for her, but she is still very weak.”

“Thank you,” Fenris muttered, not taking his eyes off her. 

“Don’t,” the mage snapped. “She would not be here if not for you. It wasn’t enough that you broke her heart, you had to get her nearly killed as well?”

The cold calm that Fenris had experienced while squeezing the life from Danarius crept over him again. He went stock still and closed his eyes, though he would have liked nothing more than to hit Anders. “You don’t understand. I l… Leaving her was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done.” 

“You ran away.” Anders’ voice dripped contempt. “She should have let that master of yours take you back north and spared herself the trouble.” Fenris' eyes snapped to the mage's face and he began to compose a heated reply, but was interrupted.

“That is enough!” Aveline forced herself between the two men, glaring at each in turn. “Whatever your squabble, your friend almost died. Put aside your jealousy for one night, Anders. Fenris, he just saved Hawke. Both of you make me sick.” She pulled a blanket from an empty bed and dragged a chair to Hawke’s cot. “Get some rest, Anders. Fenris, go home. I’ll stay with her tonight and we can move her tomorrow.”

Chastened, Fenris bowed his head in apology. “Thank you, Aveline. I’ll leave word with Donnic that you’re here.” 

His walk back to the mansion was slow, fatigue pulling at his limbs. He stopped only briefly at the city guard’s headquarters to give Donnic the message, then continued onward. The windows of Hawke’s estate were dark, but he paused before it anyway. Charlotte lived, but that was not enough. Once she was settled at home again, he would pay her a visit. He had three years of unsaid things to make up to her.


End file.
